i'm all right and i'm just fine
by acetamide
Summary: Jim finds Pike's dissertation on the Kelvin, and falls into a destructive, downward spiral. pre-Kirk/McCoy


_i'm all right and i'm just fine_

* * *

It's nearly a full year before he finds out that Pike's dissertation is available to be read, and even then it's only in passing. It makes him wonder why Pike didn't tell him about it before, why he thought he didn't have to. And what else Pike might be hiding about him that he ought to know.

The files are available on the Academy's internal network and are available for any student to open and download. It's strange because to most students it's just another case, another load of source material. But it's different for Jim, it's his goddamn _dad_, and that's weird enough to think about.

He downloads the files onto his PADD on Thursday night and reads them on Friday when Bones is cramming with other med students for his exam the next week. And he's not sure what to think when he finishes going through it all but after listening to those final transmissions, hearing his own birth and naming and his mother crying and his father saying that he _loves them so much_ just before the Kelvin crashed, he has to go and splash his face with cold water.

It's not as though his mom never told him about his dad. By the time he was in his early teens she'd had no choice, he knew exactly how and why he'd died. But after twenty three years this is the first time that he's ever heard his voice, and it's the last words that George Kirk ever spoke.

And it's too much. Jim leans his head against the wall, trying to ignore the despair and long-suppressed loneliness that he's been managing with since childhood and realising that his daddy wasn't coming home, ever. And then comes the anger. Anger with himself for being so pathetic, and at his dad for leaving them and his mom for leaving his dad even though he knows that's not logical. And then at himself again, for wasting his life away and being a failure and a dropout and general all-around loser when his dad had given his life for that of his wife and son.

He's in bed by the time Bones stumbles in, but he's not asleep. He's shaking with too many emotions and desperately trying to pretend to be okay.

* * *

Bones doesn't ask about the shattered PADD that's lying on the bathroom floor the next morning, and Jim doesn't offer up an explanation.

He manages two days of barely talking and being sullen and withdrawn before he cracks.

* * *

If Jim Kirk knows one thing, it's how to relieve stress – so as soon as he's done at the gym on Sunday evening, he showers and changes and heads to the nearest off-campus bar.

He downs three shots as soon as he gets there, and ignores the blonde cadet that's trying to flirt with him at the bar – that's not what he's here for tonight. But then he sees the hugely muscled guy in the corner who's watching her closely and thinks yeah, this could work to his advantage.

He keeps it casual and doesn't touch her until he's sure he's ready – when the buzzing in his head is equal parts her inane chatter and the alcohol that he's been consuming on an empty stomach. She's already blurring at the edges and he can sense that his motions are sluggish and clumsy and really, that's just perfect.

She giggles as he throws back one last shot and spills a little. Then he leans forward and grabs her face, pulling her in for a vicious kiss whilst latching onto her ass with his free hand. There's a moment wherein she tenses under him, but then she returns the kiss with equal fervour. She tastes of alcohol and Jim doesn't want this.

Then there's a hand on his shoulder, yanking him around, and he comes face to face with the guy who was watching her so intently before. He's having trouble focusing now, but the guy looks enough like Cupcake and he's far gone enough that he sniggers to himself.

The blow is both expected and welcome, and Jim takes a moment as he reels back to move through the shocking pain and bunch up his muscles before he whirls around and punches the man in the face. This is exactly what he wants and it's what he _needs_, and there is a reason why he's come to this bar, just away from the Academy because no matter how tough this guy looks, he doesn't have two years of extensive combat training under his belt, and he hasn't ever been taught how to fight dirty when serving time.

It's his first real fight since that time when Pike found him, and it's turning out the same way and damn if he hasn't missed this. The adrenaline, the lightspeed strategies when another guy, and then another joins in and they're all going for him, the sharp, shooting pains as another blow is landed to his stomach.

Jim's grinning when he's knocked out.

* * *

He comes to in an alleyway a few blocks down from the bar and immediately throws up on the cold stone floor.

His whole body aches and there's a tightness in his chest where he's probably got a few ribs cracked. There's blood running down his face and all over his knuckles, and as he wipes his mouth another sharp pain rips across his face. And sure enough, blood comes away from his hand and he can vaguely remember a broken bottle cutting his cheek.

He staggers upright, wincing and breathing shallowly. He has no idea what time it is but it's still dark, and there's noise and movement coming from the main street, so that's where he'll head.

The people cast him horrified glances as he walks past and he realises that he must look a mess – hell, even blinking hurts and that's going to be one hell of a black eye tomorrow. A woman crosses the road ahead of him so that she doesn't have to walk past him and he chuckles to himself, before another wave of nausea rolls through him and he gets down on his knees to be sick in the gutter.

* * *

Turns out nobody wants to give a lift to a drunk, bloody and broken man trailing despondently towards the Academy. In all it takes him forty five minutes to walk back, his injuries slowing him down, but he can't complain. This was what he wanted, it's what he _needed_. Besides, he's had worse.

The lights are on when he stumbles into the dorm room and he groans and blinks at the brightness, raising an arm to cover his eyes then wincing as his ribs flare up again. He takes a moment to adjust then cracks his eyes back open, head spinning.

"What the hell are you doing awake?" he rasps, staring at Bones' back as the other man scribbles furiously at his desk.

"Waiting for you to drag your sorry ass back through that door," Bones snaps in return. He turns around, and the pissy expression on his face immediately deepens into anger as he looks at Jim. "Oh for fuck's sake."

Jim returns the scowl in full force as he pushes himself from the door frame and limps his way to the bathroom, with every intention of washing the blood from his skin, getting a pint or two of water down his neck, and going to bed. He pauses again in front of the mirror and closes his eyes as his head spins again, trying not to throw up.

Then Bones' warm hand pulls him up, poking at his chest and face and hands and Jim hisses and jerks away from the touch, the tiles on the floor blurring together.

"I thought I told you not to get into any more fights," Bones says tightly, reaching for his medical kit, and Jim scoffs as he splashes water on his face. It falls back red into the sink.

"As if I have to do what you tell me," he retorts, and he knows that it's childish, but Bones is treating his wounds and he guesses that he should be grateful at least. But he can't bring himself to care.

"You _don't_ have to do what I tell you, I'm not your goddamned mother."

And Jim really has to bite his tongue at that or they'll have a whole conversation that he doesn't want and certainly isn't in any fit state to be having.

"Whatever, just patch me up," he mutters instead, scooping water into his mouth, and Bones' hands don't feel as gentle and warm and _safe _as they normally do. They're just cold and hard and rough and reluctant, and yeah. This is what Jim needs.

* * *

When he wakes in the morning Bones has gone, but there is a glass of orange juice by his bed and a few slices of toast, and he's grateful anyway. He even uses the hypo that's been left out for him on the shelf above the sink, and winces at his reflection as he uses it. He's pale as hell except for the huge black eye, and the just-closed cuts across his cheek, and his lips are bruised and puffy. His whole body is thrumming with a low-level ache, and there's one forming just behind his eyes, but at least his ribs are healed. Bones must have done that whilst he was passed out in bed.

It seems that there were more than just a few cadets in that bar last night, as he finds when walks across campus after a long hot shower and he gets more than just a few dirty looks. And damn but word must travel fast, because even Uhura seems to know what happened.

"How did you become such a screw up, Kirk?" she asked, almost sympathetically as she passes him in the corridor. "And there was me thinking that you'd actually changed."

It's enough to cause a hot flash of embarrassment because whilst what he did last night was what he _needed_, what he doesn't need is people calling him out on it and pretending as though he's in the wrong here somehow. But he's not, this is just his way of dealing with things and if someone else is willing to help him along with it then so much the better. It's none of their damn business.

Pike calls him to his office just after lunch, and sits him down and tells him that he's a disgrace to the Academy and really, he thought that Jim had grown out of this sort of behaviour and he was disappointed in him.

Jim doesn't see Bones for the whole day, but that's okay. It would appear that he needs another night to get it out of his system anyway.

* * *

Apparently word passes around the town pretty fucking fast too, because by the time he gets there nearly every single one refuses him entry because of the previous night. He even gets a swing in the face when he presses too hard and _ow_, hitting a guy on top of his black eye really isn't cool.

But he's lucky, because in every town there's always one bar that lets anyone in regardless of how they look or what trouble they might cause. Jim would know. He spent several years of his life in them.

This is one is just like the rest and the other patrons are the exact type of people that Jim wants to be around, because they think like him and they're probably here for the same reason anyway. So he smirks his way to the bar, hopefully attracting their interest enough for them to get their backs up, and starts with the drinks.

Eight shots of Jacks and counting and he's about ready to start picking a fight. And there's suddenly a heavy hand on his shoulder and another pushing his head down and he tenses, muscles coiling and getting ready to turn and spring and then there's sharp pain in the side of his neck.

And then there is nothing.

* * *

Jim floats back to conscious slowly, like he doesn't really want to. He's first aware of a warm hand against his forehead, brushing his hair from his sweaty skin, and he leans into the comfort of it. But as soon as he does the hand jerks away, and he's jolted back to reality as he realises the only person who would be touching him like that.

"Did you fucking sedate me?" he asks without opening his eyes, and his voice sounds rough even to his own ears. The bed that he's lying on creaks as Bones shifts beside him.

"Yes," he replies, his voice stubborn, and Jim can hear the faint beep and buzz of the tricorder as it's passed over his body. "Because you were going to get into a fight and you hadn't even healed from your last brawl. It probably would have killed you."

"Like you'd actually care," Jim grumbled, and tried to roll over. But Bones' hand was firm on his shoulder, keeping his pressed down, and he finally opened his eyes to glare at him.

"Don't you ever say anything like that," Bones warns, and his face takes on a pissed look before fading to blankness. "I know what you were doing."

"Yeah, I guessed that," Jim snipes and sits up, and from the lack of headache and urge to run vomit somewhere he guesses that Bones has been sorting out his alcohol problem whilst he's been sedated. He's bare-chested and looking down he can see the vicious bruising on his chest and stomach, but that'll fade soon enough. It always does.

"No, Jim. I meant I know _why _you were doing it," Bones clarifies, reaching up to his face, and Jim tenses and feels his blood run cold. So that's why he's looking after him like this when yesterday he could barely stand to be in the same room. Figures.

"I don't want you pitying me because of some stupid transmissions, okay?" he spits, pushing away the hand that's trying to check the cuts on his face.

"I'm not pitying you," Bones snaps, and dodges his hand to poke at the cuts. "I'm making sure you're patched up before you try another one of your stupid stunts, since after listening to your goddamn father's last transmission I'm guessing you're a little messed up."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jim mutters, tolerating the gentle investigation of his face whilst staring directly ahead, and Bones can probably feel the tension that's making his whole body vibrate.

"Yeah, I do, because I know you. You're pissed at him for leaving you alone and you're pissed at yourself because he saved eight hundred lives and you've yet to even make one for yourself. And it's tearing you up inside so you've decided to go back to your old habits because apparently, that's just how you deal with things."

"It's just what I needed to do," Jim bites back, taking a gulp of water from the glass by his bedside. "But yeah, you're right, okay? My father was a big damn hero who flew his ship into the goddamn Narada whilst I was being born and I will _never _be able to compete with that."

"You're going to be a great man one day, Jim, and you'll honour the memory of your father. And so what if you don't save eight hundred lives in twelve minutes? You're not your father, kid, and nobody expects you to be," Bones growls, taking hold of Jim's face in both hands and forcing him to look at him. "Now he died so that you could live and I'll be damned if I'm going to stand here and watch you waste your life when you can be so amazing."

There's something painfully sincere in Bones' and his eyes are so intense, that something inside Jim breaks, and all he can focus on is the warm hands holding onto his face.

"I don't know why you say these things, I don't get why you patch me up time and time again or why you always put up with me no matter what me stupid stunts are. I just don't get it."

"I do these things because I care about you, kid," he says softly, hands bracing Jim's head as his eyes flicker back and forth over his face. "I care about you too damn much for my own good."

Jim doesn't say anything to that, because when he thinks about it he's always known. Because Bones always comes back for more, is always there for him and Jim's running out of reasons otherwise. So he just leans forward and leans his forehead against Bones', and reaches up to wrap his fingers around his biceps.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers, his voice breaking on the last word, and that seems to be the persuasion that they both need because then Bones moves forward the extra inch to press his lips to Jim's in possibly the gentlest kiss he's ever experienced. It's barely even a kiss – just a brush of mouths and then Bones holding onto Jim's bottom lip between his own. And just as Jim's getting used to it Bones pulls away and twists his head, kissing the skin just in front of his ear and then his temple with feather-light touches as he pulls Jim into his arms, holding on as though he's never going to let go.

Jim closes his eyes as Bones rocks him back and forth in a steady rhythm, one hand supporting his back and the other stroking his hair, and lets out a long, shuddering sigh. He was wrong, before.

_This _is what he needs.

* * *

_end._

* * *


End file.
